There were moments
by Jena Rink
Summary: “And you saw me in the corner and just had to make sure I was alright?” he asked, his voice laced with self loathing.-TIVA, Post Masquerade. Angsty. Could be interpreted as a sequel of sorts to Ditto..maybe. Not sure if I'll finish this....see AN
1. Chapter 1

**There Were Moments.**

**Pretty sure this is a two shot, maybe a little longer.**

**I know, I know, stupid me and my story distractions.**

**Sorry if the tense switches I wrote it both ways and then tried to change it. Have to stop doing that. Ha-ha. This takes place after Masquerade. It deals heavily with the comment Tony made about his therapist, and it's a little angsty…but you know that's my style…so…yep. Haha. Enjoy? Let me know. This is hardly beta-d, which usually is so not my style at all. But I'm sorry, I'm exhausted, we FINALLY sold my house so I'm heading up to Portland and will not have time to do anything while I am there finding a house.**

**Here's a story update for y'all-**

**This one is new, obviously. I have another part for it already that I am tweaking.**

**Play your part- has a seven-ish page update that is almost ready**

**Catch me if you Can- have a fifteen-page update that is almost ready**

**Death Becomes you- has an about twenty page update that I am currently tweaking**

**-Jena**

There were moments where she was so aggravated at him for being able to see through to the obvious. Moments where he'd stare at her and she knew that whatever shield she'd been able to put up in these past months was dangerously close to fracturing. Moments of weakness. But she couldn't be weak. Gibbs had told her that she had died out there. That the old Ziva was gone. So what was making it so hard for her to admit that something was off? The sympathy stares? The way her voice would speed up and raise slightly in pitch when she was talking about something she didn't want to discuss further? It was dark in the room, and he'd still been able to see how her pupils had dilated at his words, her breath caught and her head tilted slightly to the side. What did he want from her? She pondered the question, staring down into the clear liquid of the glass below her, thanking God it was Friday. The panic had not succeeded since the earlier "terrorist" attack, and the bar was not that busy. And for that she was thankful. She could tuck herself into the corner, and consume drink after drink, the liquid burning down her throat until the memories no longer burned as well.

"You're not freaked out like the rest of the city?" the bartender noted, and Ziva shrugged, tossing back the rest of her beverage and wincing slightly as it hit her taste buds, the harsh taste of the bourbon assaulting her momentarily.

"If you let your fears control you, then you do not live, yes?" she responded, pushing the glass towards him, beginning to feel the slight tingle of her problems ebbing away. It was easy for her to say that she should not let fear control her life now. But when she was alone, when she was staring blankly at the wall and trying to fight back the sleep that she knew she needed, only because she was petrified at what might happen once she closed her eyes…then she knew fear. It controlled almost every aspect of her life these days. The case was a small chip on her shoulder. Her life, however, was like an anvil resting on the top of her head, pushing her further and further into the ground. Gravity would win out eventually. It was exhausting.

"That's an interesting way to see things," the bartender commented, and she shrugged, reaching for the glass almost as if it were a lifeline. The glass felt cool and moist against her sweaty hand. But she was beginning to relax more.

"I suppose," she breathed, picking up the glass and taking a small sip. The stool scraping to her left caught her attention, and she turned slightly, her nose catching hint of a familiar scent. Her heartbeat quickened before she could stop it, full of nerves and wondering why she should be?

"I didn't take you for the type that went to the bar after work for a drink," she commented, turning to stare at him, aware she should probably keep up appearances as much as possible.

"Everyone needs to release some stress somehow, Ziva," he'd responded," Are you here alone?" he sounded concerned, and she sighed, her eyes coming up to meet his. He always knew more than he let on. While Gibbs would be direct, Ducky would regal her with a tale no doubt related to her current situation, Palmer and Abby would no doubt babble, and Tony would be Tony, McGee just stared at her hesitantly, as if he was afraid she would kimbo-slice him if he did speak the truth.

"Today was stressful," she remarked, choosing her words carefully as she stared at her reflection in the mirror. She could see his as well. He was looking decidedly uncomfortable.

"Its just such a strange reason to do things. For defense contracts? Putting people in danger like that?"

"There is always an end to justify the means," Ziva said, her words speeding up slightly as she realized how easy it was for McGee to make any situation awkward," The question is not whether or not they have a reason. To them there is always a reason. That does not excuse any of it," she was talking in pronouns again. Hiding the real reason why she felt the need to talk about it with someone.

Because she hadn't really talked about any of it. She was sure Ducky had looked at her medical records, that Gibbs and him had talked at some point about what she had gone through. But verbally? She'd managed to scrape past the Psych evaluation because she knew how to fool someone she didn't know. But not her friends, her family. She hadn't realized she was staring down at the glass again, and that her hands had started shaking slightly, until McGee put his hand over her's.

"Are you okay?" he asked, immediately regretting the words at the look that crossed her face. It was something between a grimace, annoyance, fear, and sadness all rolled into one.

"I am fine, McGee," she breathed softly, knowing how false the words sounded as he took in her appearance.

"Have you been sleeping?" he ventured, not really sure if it was in his best interest to keep grilling her for information. Her short bark of laughter in response surprised him.

"No, McGee. I do not sleep. Not very often, at any rate," she responded softly, her mind flying back to the last time she had felt truly safe. It was with him. And that unnerved her more than anything.

"When was the last time-"

"You would not believe me even if I told-"she moved to get up, and stopped, her hand still on McGee's shoulder, which she had been holding for leverage, her eyes glued to something behind him.

Not too far away, Tony slid onto a bench, waving over the bartender, who poured his drink as though Tony did this every week. And then she realized they were having a conversation as Tony sipped on his scotch.

"How was therapy today?" the bartender asked, as Ziva slid back onto her bar stool, moving her head to the right slightly to stare around McGee at Tony. McGee followed her gaze, and his mouth opened slightly.

"I'm more confused then when before I went. I think this whole therapy thing must be a scam, because I've been going for ten months and all she's managed to tell me are things I already knew about myself…Tony, you're full of guilt. Tony, you hide behind walls. Tony, you should really try being more serious, I think it would suit you," he said, mocking the words of his therapist tiredly and taking a long sip of the scotch, trying to savor the feeling of the burning in his throat.

He'd been going to therapy? He looked haggard. He always seemed so concerned about her, no matter how much it irritated her, and for the first time, she was noticing him. How his worry lines seemed more pronounced. How his eyes looked tired, not as bright as before. And that was the moment when she realized that this whole instance had maybe affected him more than he let on.

"Wasn't exactly here to watch you, Ziva," McGee said softly, staring over at Tony, who was in deep conversation with the bartender," He comes here every Friday. He did it a lot while you were…away," he let the sentence trail off, and Ziva swallowed, staring over at Tony.

"Was that when he started going to-"

"I just found out that was why. He slipped earlier. Told me he had a dead spot in his therapists office," McGee explained, and she frowned, suddenly angry that someone else had figured out Tony's inner turmoil before she had. And in her alcohol induced bravado, as much as she would berate herself for it later, wanted her to go and talk to him. Anger was fueling the fire. When had things gotten so complicated that he couldn't tell her that things were bothering him? The sober part of her brain, which was losing at the moment, was quick to remind her that she was hiding things as well. They were all hiding things these days. And Tony's voice came into her head sarcastically, much as it had done while she was in Somalia, 'Didn't we get enough lies and deceit in the previous administration?' she got to my feet somewhat shakily, and McGee stared at her in confusion for a moment.

"Ziva-"he started, and she shook her head.

"Do not try and stop me, McGee," she told him, taking a few steps towards where Tony was sitting, the ache in her chest settling as she got closer. How was it possible for someone to calm and unnerve her at the same time? Perhaps that was what love was? She wasn't entirely sure anymore.

"Do you need me to stay?" he asked, and she shook her head.

"We are perfectly capable of calling a cab. It would not be the first time," she informed McGee, and he frowned.

"Call me if you need me. Okay?" she managed to nod as he walked past her and out the door, leaving Tony and her alone. He had yet to notice her. She took a deep breath, and took another step towards him. Maybe this should be like ripping off a bandage. She should do it quickly. The sting would be worse, but it would hurt less in the long run. She was being pulled in two different directions, staring at the look on his face. Part of her wanted to run. To run and pretend that this wasn't going on. That things hadn't reached a point where it was exhausting to just get through the day, let alone to deal with the feelings she had towards Tony. Of the way he almost knew, but wouldn't acknowledge it himself. The closest they ever got to talking about us was almost in code. He'd prompt her to say something, anything, and she'd shy away from it. Or vice versa.

At this point the bartender had noticed the way she was staring at Tony, and had come over, leaving Tony to stare forlornly into the glass filled with amber liquid that was sitting in front of him.

"He's a little too damaged from life for anyone to be making a pass," she glanced up at the bartender for a moment, her gaze pained," He turns away every woman that tries to talk to him, every Friday," the bartender explained.

"That is…not like him," Ziva murmured, staring at Tony strangely.

"You know him?"

"Sometimes," she responded vaguely, figuring she might as well just do it, and walking quickly towards him, sliding onto the seat next to him. He glanced up in alarm for a moment, and then squinted, reaching up a hand to touch her shoulder hesitantly. Ziva furrowed her eyebrows, reaching her hand up to grab his, the decision unconscious.

"You have surely not had enough to hallucinate already. I have been here longer than you have," she teased softly, her stomach fluttering at the feeling of his rough fingers between hers.

"And you saw me in the corner and just had to make sure I was alright?" he asked, his voice laced with self-loathing. She stared at him in confusion for a moment," Because even if you wont admit what is bothering you, you have to get all the answers from me?" there was a tinge of anger in his voice, and she winced slightly, leaning away from him for a moment as his words continued, slightly biting, " Because there is not any use for you to talk about what happened to you, but you have to hear what happened to me?" he had riled her up to the point where she was not thinking about what words were spilling from her lips.

"Maybe I am angry that I did not notice it before. That I was too lost in my own problems to notice yours! Is that what you wanted me to say?" she said, her voice low but heated, her eyes intense.

"Its all relative, sweet cheeks. My pain is your pain," he mumbled, taking a long pull from his glass.

"So you are saying that when I am upset you are as well?" she ventured, and he squinted off into the distance for a moment, obviously deep in thought. When he finally turned to face her, he almost looked angry.

"There are moments where I feel like I am going to have to follow you home and stop you from hurting yourself. And the fact that I caused that, yeah, Ziva, it might just upset me!" he said, shocking her with the volume of his words and the intensity they held," It might just drive me a little crazy and make me unable to sleep at night to think that you scream in your sleep, and that you wont talk about it!" he slammed his glass down, and slid to the other side of the bench, getting up and throwing a twenty down," And it might just make me want to hurt myself when I think of what they did to you! Contrary to popular belief, people actually do care about you. We worry about you! And you just…wallow in self loathing and pity for yourself, letting life go on around you while all of us scramble to try and think of ways to fix you!" she stared at him in astonishment.

"Are you implying that I am broken?" she said, her voice strong, although she felt anything but," Get over yourself, Tony! This is not about you!"

"Oh, its not about me, is it?" he said, fighting back a sarcastic retort," I was-"

"You were what? So in love with me that you had to go to a therapist and spill out all your insecurities to her because you bolted up by waiting to long to tell me?!" Ziva said, getting to her feet, the alcohol getting the best of her. The slap that followed surprised her into silence. Tony stared at her in shock for a moment.

"It's screwed, not bolted," he said back, his voice on edge, taking deep breaths to try and calm himself down.

"Whatever," she said, aggravated, fighting for control herself.

"Well I'm glad all this made me realize one thing. You obviously don't give a shit about how we're feeling. Why should we care about you?" he said bitingly, stepping past her and towards the door. Her heart stilled momentarily at the look of anger on his face.

"Tony-"she started, and he froze.

"Don't, come after me. Don't call me. Just…don't," he said, not even sparing her a glance as he stormed out of the bar.

As her anger with him faded, she realized she was trembling, fighting to stay upright.

She grabbed a ten from her wallet and placed it on the counter delicately, not even looking at the bartender as she walked out of the bar, her head swimming. There were moments you couldn't erase. And she was pretty sure that that had been one of them.

She knocked on the door shakily, and was surprised when she opened the door. What was she doing here?

"Are you alright?" Allison asked strangely, staring at her as Gibbs came up behind her.

"I…I am sorry this was probably not a good time…I'll just-"she motioned backwards, and Allison caught a hold of her hand.

"You have a bruise on your cheek," she noticed softly," Did you-"Ziva shook her head quickly, glancing up to realize that Allison's usually spick and span appearance was slightly disheveled, her hair mused up and her lips slightly swollen. Her gaze flew to Gibbs, who was clearly giving her a look saying she should not say anything about it.

"I have…done something I am not sure I can take back," she murmured, and Allison looked confused for a moment, her eyes taking on a new quality. She looked more caring. That must be what she was like with her clients.

"Something illegal?" she questioned, and Ziva shook her head.

"No…I…boat?" she asked Gibbs, who nodded, ushering her into the house.

"There's bourbon down there too. Don't overdo it, David," he warned her, squeezing her shoulder gently. She nodded quickly, closing the door behind her and walking down the stairs, staring at the stain that still marred the floor from when she had shot Ari. He would be mocking her if he could see her. She was a mess. There were moments where she wasn't sure she belonged anywhere anymore. Even this basement, which she'd spent multiple hours in, didn't feel the same way. She felt nothing. She dimly reached for the bottle, and unscrewed it, taking a long swig and relaxing back against the wall.

The problem was how much she did care. She felt lost, and hurt, and horrible for what she'd put everyone through. Almost as horrible as she felt about what had happened to her while she was in Somalia. And her mainline for support, her partner, the one who had said he'd always have her back, had basically denounced her, and now without his help she felt empty. Dead. He'd told her he couldn't live without her, and now she was starting to understand what that had meant. The way his voice had sounded when he'd told her not to contact him was eerie, devoid of all emotion whatsoever.

"You have good timing," Gibbs commented, and she frowned. Should she even ask him about the mysterious lawyer? At any rate, McGee owed her five dollars.

"I am not so sure of that," she mumbled, taking another long sip of the bourbon.

"What happened?" he asked gently, and she shook her head, tears pricking at the back of her eyes. What was this? Oh, she remembered it now. Shame. The first time after they'd violated her in Somalia, after she'd realized her father wasn't coming. She was ashamed. So she glanced down at her hands, fighting back tears.

"Do you remember when I told you that I wasn't sure I could work with Tony anymore? Not because he didn't want to, but because I could not be around him?" she managed, and he frowned.

"You'd better not be giving me some sort of-"

"I believe that he does not want to work with me any longer, Gibbs. I do not think it is possible to change his mind on the subject after what I have said…I did not think of the implications…if I cannot get transferred I will have to," she paused, her mind swimming with the horrors of having to possibly go back to Israel. She would not make it another year if she did. Her father would be sure of that.

"What did he do?" Gibbs asked, immediately taking her side. Of course he'd trust her more. She remembered thinking to herself in Somalia that she was no longer worth anyone's trust.

"Gibbs it was not him…it was me…I was so selfish…how could I have not realized that I was not the only one hurting in this situation?" she asked him honestly, turning to stare at him, her eyes wide and bloodshot, her lower lip shaking.

"Ziver, what you went through…I understand that you don't want to talk about it…"

"Would you want to talk about it?" she asked, freezing at the look on his face.

"Do you think that everyone would say that the second B in my name stood for bastard if I had talked about it?" he asked her, and she flinched," I can't transfer you again, Ziva…do you know how much work it took for you to even get green lit?" she swallowed thickly. So that was it? If she could not fix this she would have to go…she fought the bile rising in the back of her throat.

"What am I going to do?" she whispered softly, and he squeezed her shoulder gently.

"Have you ever considered apologizing?" Gibbs asked, and she flinched, remembering the words he'd spoken to her.

"He told me not to bother…"she trailed off, staring at the wall in front of her.

"You need to talk to someone. And I think I know who might be the best," he said, and she frowned.

"You are not suggesting-" he nodded, cutting off her words.

"That's exactly what I'm suggesting. You're not going to understand what was going on in his head if you don't go there and ask," he said softly," And for the record, we're all worried about you. Dinozzo is just the only one that is obvious about it. You're family, Ziva," she felt a tear running down her cheek, her eyes stinging.

"Thank you," she mumbled, getting to her feet.

"You should stay on the couch," he told her, and she allowed herself to be guided to it, glancing up at him strangely.

"What was the lawyer doing here?" she questioned, and he shook his head.

"Your problems are way more important than mine, Ziver. Sleep," he told her, kissing the top of her head.

"But you will tell me eventually," she called after him, grateful for a reprieve, something that made her stop thinking of the desolate look on Tony's face back at the bar.

She knew what she had to do. But the question was could she do it?

* * *

Soooo? Thoughts? I had fun writing this. I like to focus on other people's drama instead of my own. Ha!


	2. hiatus

A little note about anonymous reviews:

Im all for comments, criticism, and the like. I feel like I try incredibly hard to make people see that I really, really try to NOT make my characters out of character. I work extremely hard to make sure that they, given a moment of weakness or something blocking their inner censor, may do something horrible in the spur of the moment. That being said, I believe that anonymous reviews are a cowards way out of things not going the way you would like in a story. When I spend almost a week trying to decide how angry I could get the two main characters in a story, and then decided that alcohol was probably the best vice for that, and then to hear someone say that they are so OOC that this story is completely unbelievable, to be quite frank, kind of angers me. It is most certainly a coward's way out to not post a signed review. There's no retaliation. There's no way of explaining that I have certainly said/done things I did NOT mean when I was drunk, and that thinking someone would not be dead if it weren't for you isn't as traumatizing as torture. But for any person or character, the worst for them is the WORST for them. The worst thing that happened in my life is my father dying, and the worst thing that's ever happened in my friends life was not being able to find a job. Obviously, to the outside observer, mine is worse. But to my friend, not having a job was the worst thing to happen to her. Also, I know what its like to want to die. She was ready to die before they showed up…And obviously you didn't read close enough to see how badly she felt that he had been in pain about this and she hadn't noticed. See that's what bothers me about the review. If the criticism is justified, it doesn't annoy me. I often thank the person for being able to see what I could not. But in this case, you my friend, are a coward. I really don't care if you flame my story to no end…honestly. But when someone doesn't take the time to actually read the story and skips to the dramatic part, and then acts like they spent a fair amount of time thinking and reading about what was written, its blatantly obvious. (Im an English major, I would know).

-jena

I'm not sure if I want to continue this. That review, to be frank, really pissed me off. When I leave a review, I try and be very,very detailed about the exact things that bother me. It kind of feels like a slap in the face, and I'm discouraged enough to stop.


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